Cheyenne Caress

by Georgina Gentry

  “Hello, Johnny, my heart is glad to see you.” Major North spoke fluent Pawnee, better than Johnny himself. He stood and held out his hand to shake, then gestured to a chair. “Sit down. We’ll smoke, and talk.”

  “We did not get much chance to talk on the last campaign, Pani Le-shar.”

  Pani Le-shar. Pawnee Chief. Only one other white man besides Frank North had ever been honored with that title-Fremont, the Pathfinder-and that was long ago, before Johnny’s time.

  “No wonder.” The major smiled, switching to English as he seemed to remember Johnny’s language problem. “The Cheyenne have been raising hell all up and down, haven’t they? Just one scrimmage after another.”

  Johnny hesitated, looking from the major’s piercing eyes down to the floor. He had an overpowering urge to get up and leave. But as he hesitated, he saw bright blue eyes in his mind, eyes the color of stars, full of desperation . . . and hate for himself. “Pani Le-shar, we have ridden together much time, fought the enemy of the whites and Pawnee together.”

  “More than two years,” North mused, scratching his head in memory. “Remember Plum Creek?”

  “Who could forget how the Cheyenne Dog Soldiers lay in ambush for the inexperienced blue coats they thought were riding into their trap?”

  North laughed aloud. “And the looks on their faces when those green troops they thought were riding in formation suddenly threw off the blue coats and were Pawnee warriors instead! You gave them more than they bargained for!”

  “And will again, next time we go out, Pani Le-shar.”

  “Cheyenne,” North mused, and made the sign language for that tribe absently, his right fore finger making stripe marks against his left. “My Pawnee brothers are the world’s best scouts.” He made the sign for Pawnee and scout: two fingers held up behind his head like ears.

  How was he to ask this? While Johnny pondered, the major reached for a box on his desk and offered Johnny a cigar. Then he lit it for Johnny and leaned back in his chair, waiting patiently. It was good manners among the tribes to sit quietly, waiting for the other to finally bring up the reason for his visit.

  Johnny took a deep drag of the savory smoke and wondered how to bring it up. “Pani Le-shar, did you see the girl carrying the laundry basket across the square when we first rode in several days ago?”

  “The small one with the bright blue eyes?” He tipped his chair back, and put both hands behind his head. “That’s Lucero. The pair hangs around first one fort, then another. Her mother is a little crazy, I’m told, and keeps searching for the soldier who deserted her.”

  “The mother is dying,” Johnny said, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. “She lies in the dirty storage room of the trading post. There doesn’t seem to be anyone who cares.”

  Frank North’s eyes were bright with curiosity, but he only shrugged. “The pair are tame Cheyenne, but we fight their people every day. Is the girl so desperate for help, she asks you, an enemy of her people?”

  “Hardly.” Johnny smiled in spite of himself, remembering the girl’s spunk and fire. “She spat at me and acted like a kitten cornered by a dog. She called me a big, stupid Pawnee.”

  Without thinking, he put his hand protectively to his head, almost as if he could feel the white teacher’s ruler striking and humiliating him before the whole class.

  Frank North chewed his lip. “If you’re asking me to throw that pair out into the cold or run them away from the fort because of the way she treated you–”

  “I do not ask that, Pani Le-shar,” he blurted without thinking, although it was rude among Indians to interrupt someone who was speaking.

  “I see,” North said, but the expression on his puzzled face betrayed that he did not understand what it was that Johnny wanted. “Very well, I will punish the girl in any way you ask, short of throwing the pair out into the cold. Although I fight her people, I cannot do that to helpless women. For you, my best and bravest scout, I will take action against her.”

  Johnny studied the tip of his glowing cigar. He should get up and leave now. He owed the little spitfire nothing. Her people and his had been enemies for generations. She had been so pathetically brave, snarling at him when he could break her small back across his knee with one stroke of his big hands. “As far as action, Pani Le-shar, there is one small quarters for soldier families available on this post. Could-could the army pretend not to notice while you move the pair into that?”

  Major North brought his chair down on all fours with a loud bang. “Let me get this straight, after she spat at you and insulted you, you ask that I do her a favor?”

  “Not even a Cheyenne should have to die like a dog,” he mumbled. He had known the major would be surprised and curious. No one hated that tribe like Johnny Ace. And he had good reason.

  The major only stared back at him in wide-eyed shock.

  Johnny looked away. “I admire her spunk, her pride.”

  “Ahhh!” The major nodded and his smug tone said that now he understood. “She is very pretty, too. Well, the victors have always enjoyed the losers’ women. It’s just one of the spoils of war.”

  Johnny tried to appear careless. “I have not looked at her much. She is just a girl, that’s all. Someone should make her more obedient, break that pride.” He thought about it a moment. Her stubborn pride was what he liked best about her. He, too, had pride. That was the only thing that had sustained him all those miserable years in the white man’s school.

  North shrugged. “You’re my best scout, Johnny. If you want her, take her a couple of times until you’re tired of her. No one will listen if she tries to complain to me or General Carr.”

  Johnny had a sudden image of her small, slender body spread beneath his big, dark one. Was she a virgin? Possibly, as young as she was and with her mother a little loco and always carrying a knife. The men would be afraid to bother Luci. That’s what he should do-drag her into his room and humble her, smear her with his seed, force it deep into her womb until she was dominated and begging for mercy.

  He pictured her on her knees as he stood before her. He would grab that long ebony hair and force her to kiss his manhood, to take it between her hot, moist lips to show complete submission. He would do anything he wanted to her while her mother lay helpless and everyone on the post would look the other way . . . or offer to help him humble her.

  The thought of her on her knees naked before him made his groin tighten and he moved restlessly in his chair. “Maybe that is what I will do, Pani Le-shar. But the dirty storeroom is no place for what I have in mind. Can’t you get her the quarters?”

  North groaned aloud and rolled his eyes. “Not for anyone else would I do this, Johnny. I’ll get her and her mother into those quarters if I have to list her name as Mrs. O’Brien, here to meet her soldier husband. I just hope we don’t both get in trouble over it.”

  “No one cares about an enemy girl,” Johnny said.

  “You’re loco to get mixed up with a Cheyenne, Johnny. It’s bound to lead to grief. She might stick a knife in you.” .

  “I’ll take that chance.” He would put his knife in her, driving deep and hard, pinning her against a bed while his lips sucked her nipples into hard, pink nubs. He tossed the cigar into the cuspidor, stood up. “One more thing. If her mother dies, the girl is all alone. Each of the white soldiers will try to force himself on her.”

  North stood up, nodding. “I’ll speak to General Carr about the quarters, Lord knows what I’ll tell him. The paperwork will delay it ’til morning, but I wouldn’t want to move a sick woman while it snows anyway.”

  “And the white soldiers?” Johnny persisted as he got up from the chair, “Otherwise . . .”

  “I’ll pass the word around that no man is to touch her until Johnny Ace has had his fill of her and is ready to trade her off.”

  As someone must have done to Star Eyes’ mother, Johnny thought with a frown. But that wasn’t his problem. He nodded. “After I’ve enjoyed her a few days, I may not care who
has her next . . .” He let his voice trail off. When he thought of another man even putting his hand on her arm, much less lying between her thighs or kissing her breasts, he got an angry, burning feeling deep inside.

  “Is that all?”

  Abruptly Johnny came out of his thoughts, saluted smartly. “Thank you, Pani Le-shar.”

  Frank North leaned against the door post. “Get her out of your system fast. We’ll be going after Ta Ton Ka Haska and his Dog Soldiers again soon, and the quicker I move her out of the quarters, the less explaining I’ll have to do. I’ll get them moved first thing in the morning when the snow stops.”

  Johnny nodded, turned to open the door, and walked out into the cold spring night. The snow fell steadily now on the green grass that had just started to come up after the long winter.

  He had felt pity for the dying mother, perhaps because he had barely known his own. What difference did it make if Major North thought he was setting the girl up to be used for his lust? But wasn’t that exactly what he was doing and using pity as an excuse? He didn’t know himself.

  It occurred to Johnny that she might be just grateful enough to him for making her mother more comfortable that when he told her his body hungered for her, she might let him make love to her without a fight. Maybe she would even respond, make love to him. Johnny had had many women, white and brown, but he had never loved any of them. Of course, he could never love this enemy girl either; he could only slake his lust on her slim body.

  He went next to the post doctor and promised to pay for medicine if the man would see about the Indian woman-at least making her rest easy if there was nothing he could do.

  There was one more thing that someone would have to take care of in case. . . . With a sigh, Johnny looked around at the lights of the fort reflecting off the swirling snow. Hunching his broad shoulders against the chill, he went off to find the post carpenter. If the mother died, there was no chance of doing a Cheyenne burial on a raised platform with a fine horse killed beneath it to take the dead one on her journey up the Hanging Road to the Sky. No doubt the soldiers would wrap the body in a ragged blanket and scratch out a shallow hole on the edge of the fort graveyard. Even a dog should be buried with more dignity than that.

  He found the man and paid him to build a good pine coffin. Lumber was dear on these plains, much too dear to waste on an Indian squaw, the man informed him. Johnny refrained from hitting him in the mouth and demanded he build the coffin if needed.

  It was dark now, the wind whipping his buckskin coat as he hunched against the cold and walked across the parade ground. He stopped and looked toward the trading post. Should he go back over? Johnny hesitated and stopped. He didn’t feel like being spat on and screamed at anymore tonight. Besides, the doctor would do whatever he could. Reluctantly Johnny trudged back to his quarters.

  He should stop thinking about getting the small beauty into his blankets. After all, she was the enemy and her people had killed his father, leaving him and his brothers orphaned. His brothers now scouted for Custer and Crook.

  He stripped down to a scanty breechcloth and went to bed. But he couldn’t sleep. Johnny lay staring at the ceiling, restless and listening to the fire crackle. He worried about Luci and her mother in that storage room. His own mother had died in the cholera outbreak of 1849 that a passing wagon train had brought among the Pawnee. At least in the morning, the pair would be moved to quarters that were clean and warm.

  He almost got up in the middle of the night and went over to see about them; then he shook his head and settled back onto his cot. Star Eyes would never believe that he had good intentions. She would think he was coming to force himself on her. But were his intentions all that noble or did he just want to feast his eyes on her again?

  Star Eyes. Romantic name for an enemy girl. Nothing could come of this attraction he felt for her unless he raped her and was done with it. But Johnny had never raped a woman, not even an enemy female. He knew some of the others would laugh if they knew he thought it a despicable and shameful thing to do. Still he wanted the blue-eyed one badly enough to be tempted by the idea.

  Johnny rolled over on his belly, trying not to think about her. Were her breasts small and delicate with soft pink buds that would harden when he put his mouth on them? With a curse, he felt his manhood harden at the thought and wished he had her beneath him right now.

  As he dozed off, he pretended he did have. Her mouth was hot and moist, sucking his tongue deep into her throat. Her slim legs locked around his hips, pulling him deep within her. But best of all, her small arms were around his neck and she whispered over and over, . . . I need you, Johnny, I want you . . . make love to me. . . .

  But then the wind picked up and rattled the building as he slept and the wind seemed to cry and wail through his troubled dreams.

  Johnny jerked up with a start, listening. As a scout, often sleeping in hostile territory, his life might sometime depend on his ability to hear the slightest sound, come awake in an instant. What was it that had awakened him?

  He slipped on his moccasins and crept silently as a lynx to the window, staring out at the night. The light snow still swirled in the darkness and the wind blew. Standing there in nothing but a breechcloth, he shivered in the cold. The faint sound drifted on the wind again. It sounded like a small, hurt animal, or a lost child . . . or a bereaved woman.

  Then he saw her collapsed on the parade ground, a small shadow against the snow. With a curse, he swung open the door and raced into the night, heedless of the snowflakes melting on his bare skin.

  “Luci! What are you doing out here? What . . . ?” Then he saw the torn clothing, the hair hanging loosely around her small shoulders, the blood smeared on her skin and the torn clothes. For an instant, he thought she had been attacked. But then she raised her eyes to his and he saw the grief, the tears freezing on her cheeks.

  “She’s dead! My mother’s dead!” The wind carried away her weeping.

  He tried to raise her to her feet but she struggled with him and fell back to writhe in the snow. “She’s dead! Aiyee! She’s dead!” Luci tore at her clothes, then brought out the small knife and began slashing at her arms in the traditional way of expressing grief.

  “You’ll freeze to death out here!” He twisted the knife out of her hands and tried to pick her up. Her blood ran hot and red on his bare skin. When he swung her up in his arms through sheer brute strength, she fought him. Her torn dress came open and he felt her bare breasts warm and soft against his chilled skin.

  “I don’t care! She’s dead! I don’t care what happens to me!” The girl tried to fight her way out of his grasp, smearing them both with her hot blood. He could feel it sticky on his body, smell the coppery scent of it.

  “Dammit it, small one, I care and I’m freezing!” He swung her up in his arms and started walking swiftly toward his quarters, glad only that the wind and the cold had everyone inside and asleep so they couldn’t witness this struggle. The soldier on guard duty must have dozed off at his post.

  She fought to get away from him, but he held her easily, cradling her against his bare chest, protecting her shivering body from the wind with his big one.

  “Dirty Pawnee!” she cried, struggling. “You’re glad she’s dead, aren’t you? I hate you, you killer of my people! You wolf for the bluecoats!”

  He marched doggedly across the parade ground while she fought and scratched and bit him. It seemed a million miles through the snow to his quarters with the struggling girl. Finally he made it and kicked the door closed with his heel before he dumped her unceremoniously on his cot. “I’ll stir up the fire and make you a pot of coffee.”

  She looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes, then glanced toward the door.

  “Star Eyes, don’t try it,” he said patiently, stooping to stir up the coals of the fireplace and add another pile of buffalo chips. “I can outrun you and I’d only bring you back. I’m sorry about your mother.”

  “No, you aren’t!” She ra
ged at him, oblivious to her torn clothes that left her half-naked on his cot. “You’re the enemy! And now you’ll finish by raping me!”

  He paused and looked over at her as he put a kettle of water on to boil. “Don’t tempt me, Blue-eyed One. I’m cold as hell and those blankets look good to me!”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” She scurried to the far edge of the cot and stared back at him.

  He stood up slowly, frustrated and angry at himself because of his urgent need of her. She was fast becoming an unquenchable fire in his soul. “I am Asataka, Major North’s best scout. If I want you, the army will turn its head and pretend not to notice until I’ve had my fill of your body and toss you aside.”

  He was sorry then for his outburst because of the haunted, terrified look on her small face. She drew herself up into a ball and burst into exhausted tears, hiding her face against her knees.

  She had brought him nothing but trouble from the first moment he laid eyes on her. With a sigh, he went over to the wash stand, got a big bowl and pitcher of water, came over to the cot. “Luci, let me help clean you up. In a minute, there’ll be coffee ready and we’ll talk.”

  He set the bowl and pitcher on the table next to the bed and reached out his hand to her.

  “Damned stupid Pawnee!” She knocked his hand away and slapped his face.

  He had to fight to keep from grabbing and shaking her. Johnny stood glaring down at the small girl, his cheek still stinging. “Men have died for less than that.”

  “Then kill me!” she challenged. “Make war on a woman!” She tried to slap him again. He caught her hand and they struggled.

  As he pulled her against his bare chest, trying to keep her from striking him, her ripped, faded dress tore away. He realized suddenly that she was warm and smeared with blood-completely naked and defenseless in his arms.